The Birch Bark Bobbin

I pushed past the bottom hem of the screen door and stepped out into the crisp mountain air. Over near the weathered tool bench, a light breeze was rolling a small, hollow wooden spool across the cedar planking. I trotted up, planting my front paws on the low bench runner to steady my climb. The spool had a band of silvery birch bark wrapped tightly around its center, smelling of sweet sap and damp earth. I leaned down and tapped the rim with my snout. It gave a hollow wooden rattle, spinning in place until my rescue barrel nudged against its side, holding it perfectly still against the grooved wood.